


Sarah Smiles

by nothingnothingtralala



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, F/M, Song fic, because Panic gives me all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingnothingtralala/pseuds/nothingnothingtralala
Summary: She has enthralled him; she is everything to him; she is his Saviour and his Destroyer, his Challenger and his Champion, his Subject and his Queen. Without her he is nothing, for she exposes him for who he really is, laying bare his heart for all to see.





	Sarah Smiles

_I was fine, just a guy living on my own_

_Waiting for the sky to fall_

_Then you called and changed it all, doll_

 

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He finds himself pacing impotently up and down impossible staircases, all his usual pastimes having lost, somehow, every sort of interest. When he has time to think about it he rages at how ridiculous the whole damn thing is… but most of the time he’s too busy thinking of _her_. 

How has she done this to him? (He smashes a crystal against the wall, and elsewhere in the Labyrinth a ravine forms and swallows several hapless goblins.) How he used to laugh at poor, clumsy, mortal men, pitying their willingness to fall with barely a stand; now he envies them, for this fundamental change has inverted his entire world and shaken him to the core. At least men are used to this madness, and their afflictions are often shallow: in contrast, the passions of the Fae run deep and wild. It is sweet insanity, mixed with bitter regret, that flows through his veins now.

 

_Velvet lips and the eyes to pull me in_

_We both know you’d already win_

_Mm, your original sin_

 

He tries to banish her spectre and fails utterly every time; she haunts him at each turn, laughing at him, cruel and heartless and beautiful. He gives up and replays their every interaction, noting in hindsight her fearful courageousness, her stubbornness, her determination to win. He knew from the moment he appeared in front of her; how could he not, when he beheld her full lips and those beguiling eyes? How could he not, when he saw the fire that blazed in her as she met his gaze steadily, as she confessed to her mistake and brushed it aside in the same moment?

_She is a child_ , he tries to remind himself, but age counts for nothing with his kind — and besides, she was not merely a child, for he saw the maturity hovering in her eyes and the subtle markers of womanhood in her figure. He is tortured and relieved by the memory of her; he is a drowning man dying of thirst.

 

_You fooled me once with your eyes now, honey_

_You fooled me twice with your lies_

 

_She tricked me_ , he says to himself over and over again: before he falls into a restless, broken sleep at night, when he wakes with her name on his lips, as Time — once his friend — derides him relentlessly. _She tricked me_ — forgetting the multitude of traps he set for her, and his triumph when she failed to circumvent them. 

He blames her eyes, her innocent yet piercing eyes: the colour of pine trees at dusk, of emeralds with a heart of flame. He wasn’t supposed to intrude on the Dream. He was supposed to watch, mockingly, from the shadows as she was entranced by the Magic and lost all sense of urgency, of her very self. Instead, he danced with her, for looking down into that open, bewildered gaze, he could not bear to be far from her. In that look, her lips parted and her green eyes darkened, he glimpsed an awakening that provoked in response a hunger in his heart: a desperate desire to hold her, to possess her, to lose himself in her and be redeemed by her purity. 

But it was all a trick: she let go, moved away with something akin to terror in those eyes, and he felt her loss like a tear in the fabric of his soul. Why? He does not understand, even yet, how she can have so much power over him when _he_ was the one to weave the spell. 

After that he doubled his efforts; never once in the history of the Underground has the Goblin King decided to possess something — and _failed_. He was so certain that she would not, _could_ not, refuse his offer — _fool that I am_ — that he considered her his prize already when she entered the castle. That was a lie, as was the hurt he thinks he glimpsed in her face. He offered her his heart, for the first time in his life kneeling in vulnerability before another… and she cast it aside and walked away victorious, leaving him with nothing, nothing, nothing but this constant ache and her ever-present ghost.

 

_And I say: Sarah smiles like Sarah doesn’t care_

_She lives in her world, so unaware_

_Does she know that my destiny lies with her?_

_Sarah, oh Sarah, are you saving me?_

 

He watches her. He cannot stop himself: every fibre of his being trembles for her now, and summoning a crystal to see her comes as naturally as breathing. He doesn’t know what hurts him most; watching her laugh carelessly with her friends as though he never offered her everything, or hearing her cry out his name in her sleep. He would like to imagine that he haunts her too, but he dares not. He can only bear so many disappointments, and he has learnt his lesson in humility. 

He watches as she lives her mortal life, and nothing changes for him, the wound still as fresh and the pain still as sharp as the day it was inflicted. But _she_ changes, growing even more beautiful and learning many things. He sees men become enslaved to her within a heartbeat, the way he was — is — and yet she smiles, seemingly ignorant of her power. She is not like other women, desperate for attention and calculatingly aware of her beauty; she lives for others, bringing a joy to the world that even he cannot fail to be touched by. He wonders: does she know what she has done to me? Does she know that her name is written on my heart? 

 

_Waking up to a kiss and you’re on your way_

_I really hoped you would stay_

_But you left and went your own way, babe_

 

Sometimes he is granted sweeter dreams, where she is draped warm over him as night falls and wakes him with a kiss in the mornings; but these dreams often end in agony as she turns and walks away, and the echo of those terrible words plagues him for the rest of the day. Having never had something to hope for, he has never before had something to lose. He lives in fear that another will take his place, that a nameless, senseless, heartless mortal will steal _his_ kisses and _his_ caresses; but she never seeks out companionship or love. 

Strange as it may seem, he has forgiven every pain she has ever caused him. He cannot help but worship her. To do anything else would be to unmake himself from the inside out. 

 

_I don’t mind, take your time, I’ve got things to do_

_Besides sit around and wait for you_

_Oh, and I hope you do too_

 

 

In an effort to forget the unforgettable, he turns his attention to the repair of his damaged kingdom. He tells himself he is tired of waiting for something that will never happen, though he knows as well as all his subjects do that he will never stop. Carefully, lovingly, he tends to the destruction she caused with only a disdainful look and those accursed words. Only the scene of their final confrontation does he avoid; that he cannot bring himself to look upon. It has become a shrine to his pain and loneliness. 

He pretends to ignore her, but he cannot: she is busy, too, involving herself in studies, spending hours poring over great dusty tomes in dim-lit libraries. That hint of promised maturity has blossomed indeed — Sarah as a young woman is alternately serious and playful, wise and endearingly foolish. She is beautiful with a glowing, vivacious beauty that is not found in the shape of her red lips nor the adorable upward tilt of her nose, not in her flowing black hair nor even the ever-green eyes, but in the sum of all of these and more. There is an unquenchable _something_ in her that makes her attractive to even the most hardened and cynical of men, and the Goblin King is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

 

_And it’s killing me inside, consuming all my time_

_You’ve left me blind_

_And when I think I’m right, you strip away my pride,_

_You cast it all aside_

 

She has enthralled him; she is everything to him; she is his Saviour and his Destroyer, his Challenger and his Champion, his Subject and his Queen. Without her he is nothing, for she exposes him for who he really is, laying bare his heart for all to see. He despises and adores her simultaneously, for the way she ruthlessly tore down his walls and faced him with such wonderful fearlessness. 

 

_And I say: Sarah smiles like Sarah doesn’t care_

_She lives in her world, so unaware_

_Does she know that my destiny lies with her?_

_Sarah, oh Sarah, Sarah, are you saving me?_

 

He has tried everything to erase her, but he only succeeds in coming to the conclusion that she is meant for him and he for her. He agonises over the possibilities, knowing only that she belongs to him as she belongs to nobody else, and that life will be an endless torture unless she comes back to him. Does she not feel his heart beating beside hers? Does she not know that her fate is entwined with his? Does she not know that she is his only hope for salvation?

At last he cannot wait any longer, and he appears before her, resplendent and intimidating and trembling beneath that beloved gaze. His words fail him; he wants to beg, to plead, to command, to frighten. He is shocked into silence by her laugh, the same laugh that has haunted him for so many years. Her starry eyes are kind as she holds her hands out to him. Her voice is not mocking but tender… and in dawning wonder he realises that this is not a meeting of enemies, but of lovers.

“Goblin King! What took you so long?”


End file.
